


A patchwork of scars

by HistoriaGloria



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical discussions, End of season one, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote it as Jonmartin but also can be read as platonic, M/M, Pre-Slash, Scars, some body dysmorphia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21687679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoriaGloria/pseuds/HistoriaGloria
Summary: After Prentiss' attack on the Archives, Jon is confined to his own home for a while.It gets lonely.And more than that, he starts to hate the scars left behind.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 209





	A patchwork of scars

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO LIKE  
> I'm only midway through Season 3 right now, episode 94 precisely as of writing this but oh my fucking god The Magnus Archives is so good and I'm in love with the very concept of JonMartin!  
> So, I thought I had better write some early fluff. And well, this actually what we got.  
> I really hope you guys like it!

Jonathan Sims hasn’t ever considered himself to be… self-conscious. He knows he isn’t a particularly attractive individual; he’s tall in the lanky way, not the pretty way. His hair is greying prematurely, likely due to the Archive, and he constantly looks tired.

But none of that has caused him to start refusing to look in mirrors.

It is the scars.

After Prentiss, his dark skin is lightened with patches of scar tissue, across his neck, hands, arms, torso. Even on his cheeks.

It just makes him feel… uneasy.

Everything makes him feel uneasy these days.

He isn’t sure when it happened that he started to believe in the statements in the Archives. Was it when Jane Prentiss attacked, and he was so close to death? Was it before then, when he started to get the feeling of being _watched_ when recording those statements that only stick to tape?

He doesn’t really know anymore.

Elias has given all of the people in the archive some time off after Prentiss’s attack, but Tim and himself the most. After all, they were the only two to come out of the attack with permanent physical scarring.

Jon hasn’t seen anyone else in nearly 2 weeks now. Just himself and his scars in the mirror.

Unsurprisingly, he’s somewhat of a recluse. The only people he could even think about calling friends are Tim, Sasha and Martin. Well, he doesn’t want to bother them after everything.

He reaches a hand up and strokes the tips of his fingers down the scars on his cheek and neck, shuddering. He’ll never get used to the way it feels.

It’s late, after midnight and Jon is exhausted. After everything, it’s not surprising. His body is still recovering though he doubts his mind is going to get anywhere near close. As he heads up to bed, he glances in the mirror in his room.

The scars seem so stark against his skin. The grey in his hair is disconcerting and annoying but it doesn’t make his skin _crawl_ in the way the scars do.

The thought makes him think of itching and Prentiss and that godawful day where he thought he was going to _die_ and abruptly Jon feels sick. He shuffles away from the mirror quickly and collapses into bed before he can think anymore.

* * *

The next day passes in a boring blur. Jon gets up, showers and avoids mirrors. He does this to the point of throwing sheets over them now. Enough of seeing those damned scars. Jon sits on his lonely sofa, failing to focus on reading a book. And it’s getting late in the day when there is a knock on the door. He blinks, confused by this and slowly heads over. He’s still fairly sore after, well, everything. Looking through the peephole, he sees Martin.

Martin.

He’s standing there, looking slightly nervous as though unsure if he should be there. His hands appear to be wrapped around a bag. Jon blinks once more and opens the door.

“Hello, Martin,” is all he says, and Martin brightens immediately.

“Hi, Jon. How are you doing?”

“I’m well,” he replies, stiffly, but Martin isn’t fooled. He nods though and grips the bag tighter.

“Can I come in?” Jon thinks about saying no. But honestly, he has been getting rather lonely and Martin…

Seeing Martin feels better than expected. It feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest.

So, he just nods and steps back slightly to let Martin in. The other man steps in carefully and begins to take off his coat. Jon thinks that Martin has only been round to his flat a couple of times, before he was made Head Archivist. Back when they were just researchers and were still sort of friends.

Now, they are actually friends. Or at least Jon hopes so.

“I brought some tea. Can I make you some?” Martin asks and Jon manages a nod. It’s almost a ritual; Martin always makes him tea when Jon is especially ornery or hasn’t slept much. So, Jon goes back to sitting on the sofa and listens to the sounds of the other man in his kitchen.

It’s reassuring. To hear the presence of another individual.

Martin comes back a few moments later, handing Jon a mug of sweet tea, holding his own.

“How are you doing, Jon? Really?” Martin presses and Jon takes a gulp of the tea, despite it being far too hot to drink.

“I’m not… I don’t know,” Jon admits, his voice still as level as he can force it to be. “I am _fine._ I have to be fine.”

“Honestly, I really don’t think you do, Jon,” Martin says, sipping his tea. “You nearly _died_ back there. I… I should have been with you. And I’m sorry; I was such a coward, I should have stayed and helped.” All this is blurted out at a rapid pace and Jon realises that Martin likely has his own reasons for coming to see Jon.

“Martin-”

“No, I should have stayed, Jon! I shouldn’t have kept running; I thought you and Tim were right behind me and then you weren’t!”

“Martin…”

“It’s not, it wasn’t okay of me to do that and I just want you to know how sorry I am and-”

“Martin!” Jon snaps and he silences immediately. Jon sighs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. But it’s not your fault. I was slowed down by my leg and, well, I can’t blame you for saving my life.” Jon thinks about the worms that they had dug out with a corkscrew that day. Martin sags a little, hands gripping his tea. They are both very quiet for a long few seconds.

“Honestly, I’m very glad you came to see me,” Jon admits, his voice quiet. “It’s been… lonely.” Martin gives half a smile, like he can understand that. They sit there quietly for a long few moments, sipping their tea, when Martin excuses himself to use Jon’s toilet.

And Jon is alone again for a few moments. Even just knowing that Martin is here is somewhat reassuring.

When he returns, Martin looks a little concerned.

“Has the mirror done something to offend you, Jon?” And Jon shudders a little.

“Oh. No. There’s nothing unusual about it, I just…” he trails off.

“Didn’t want to see your own reflection,” Martin finishes for him. Before Jon really notices it, he’s scratching at the scars on the side of his neck.

“It never bothered me before,” Jon says, almost to himself. “I’m not attractive, that I know, but my reflection never bothered me. Not until recently.”

“What bothers you about it now?” Martin says, failing to keep the concern from his voice.

“The scars,” Jon says, drawing out the word in a heavy sigh. Martin’s eyes fall on the long sleeves Jon is wearing and the way he scratches at his neck. “They’re just… They’re bad, Martin and they make me feel sick and uneasy.” Jon sighs, pulling his hand away from his neck and he can _see_ the scars on the back of his hand, and it makes him shudder. Martin, for his part, just nods. Jon realises he doesn’t have anything else to say, short of repeating himself about the scars and Martin doesn’t appear to expect anything. Then, he asks,

“Have you left the house recently, Jon?” Jon blinks.

“I went grocery shopping a few days ago, but my body is still annoyingly weak. And… people kept staring,” he mutters. That had been one of the worst things; the stares. He hates drawing attention to himself and this had been no different. Martin sighs.

“I see. You need to leave more often. You’re going to go crazy cooped up in here. Trust me, I know.” There is so much weight put on that last sentence that Jon remembers all too well Martin’s panicked statement after managing to flee Prentiss. The months Martin spent in the archive. The thirteen days Martin spent unable to leave his own home.

“Elias won’t let me come back to the Archive,” Jon replies, though it sounds hollow even in his own words.

“I wasn’t talking about going back to work, Jon,” Martin says, a little sharply. “Come on, lets go out. Get some food. I really don’t think you’ve been eating enough.” Jon opens his mouth to protest, but Martin isn’t wrong. He sags a little and manages a nod.

“Okay, but we can’t go far. I’m still… unsteady,” Jon bites out the last word. He hates being an invalid and it is really rather annoying that his body has decided it is weak. Martin just gives a wry smile in response and nods.

“Okay, Jon.”

* * *

And so, Jon lets Martin take him down the Indian restaurant which is just a five-minute walk from his house. It frustrates him that he is winded by just the short walk, his legs shaking and his breathing heavy. Martin is practically supporting him by the time they reach the restaurant and is looking increasingly concerned.

“I’m fine,” Jon huffs, a little put out and Martin nods, letting the archivist straighten up. It’s not until they’re sat down, opposite each other does Jon start to notice.

The staring.

He is wearing long sleeves, but no gloves and his hair is tugged back into a bun. In other words, the circular scars on his hands and neck and cheeks are very visible.

The servers keep glancing at him. The couple across from them are almost blatantly staring and the family in the back corner keep shooting worried looks between him and their kids.

Jon shrinks into his seat and pulls out his hair tie, letting the black hair, shot with early grey, cover his face at least. Martin notices.

“Are you okay, Jon?” he asks quietly as one of the servers bring over their drinks, firmly _not_ looking at Jon.

“Staring,” Jon mutters and shrinks a little more. Martin scowls.

“It’s fine, Jon. Just you eat and then we’ll head back to your house. You should rest.” Jon almost protests at that. He keeps resting but honestly, his body is more prone to rebelling than he would like and he just nods.

They eat in companionable silence and Jon almost forgets about the number of people staring at his odd scars.

Almost.

His hearing is good, and the waitress isn’t keeping her voice down enough. (Or at least he thinks that is why he is able to hear her). She mutters to a colleague, talking about ‘making bets about how that guy got his godawful scars’ and Jon trembles.

Fear is weird nowadays. He’s plenty afraid now; there’s murderers and people like Prentiss and people not like Prentiss at all out there. And his scars remind him so clearly that he was inches from death.

Martin looks… frustrated. It’s unusual for his friendly archival assistant to get angry, though he has seen it on occasion. And here, with Jon so clearly uncomfortable with the staring, Martin is unhappy. He takes the bill quickly and gives the waitress who stares at Jon’s hand a withering scowl. He’s not as good at it as Jon is, but he doesn’t do bad. The girl scurries away and Martin helps Jon up. It makes him scowl to be treated as such but there is such concern in Martin’s eyes, he doesn’t question it.

As soon as they are headed back, Martin says,

“Rude people. Are you okay?” Jon just nods. “Good. Honestly, did no one ever tell them it is rude to stare?” Jon blinks. Martin’s indignancy helps a little. It’s nice to know that his friend is there to support him, even in something which is, in his mind, stupid.

Even if he hates the scars himself.

Jon limps up to his door and unlocks it, wincing sharply. His leg can still be very sore at times.

Martin stands on the doorstep.

“Well, um, I should be getting back,” he mumbles. Jon blinks.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Martin. For coming to see me,” he manages to mutter out and Martin brightens a little.

“I can come back another time if you would like?” he suggests, and Jon finds himself nodding before he can even think about it. It would be nice to not be lonely.

“Okay,” is all he says. “Goodnight, Martin.”

“Goodnight, Jon! Get some rest,” he replies and with that, Martin turns to head away. Jon steps inside.

He’s still uncomfortable. The look of the scars still makes him twitch. But its nice to know that he isn’t dealing with the fallout of Jane Prentiss alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come bother me on twitter or tumblr, HistoriaGloria! Thank you again!


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